


of sandcastles and hot chocolate

by valleyofthewind



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Parents, Domestic Fluff, Kinda, M/M, Marriage Proposal, minghao is a uni professor and mingyu a social studies teach, no real intricate plot to follow just cute little moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 09:15:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11871225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valleyofthewind/pseuds/valleyofthewind
Summary: the chronicles of minghao and mingyu raising two children together





	of sandcastles and hot chocolate

Hyunok is going through another phase.

First it was collecting stickers, then it was sharks, then drawing, then drawing sharks, then collecting stickers of sharks. Now – _insects._ For some reason.

Her teachers are always telling him and Minghao about what a _creative, intelligent, strong-willed_ girl she is. Yet now, picking Hyunok up from preschool after she had a day long tantrum and apparently gave them the silent treatment all afternoon: they look less than happy over her creativeness and intelligence and strong-willingness.

“Sweetheart.” Mingyu is squatting down to be on her eye-level. He brushes hair away from her face, which makes her grimace. “You _don't_ tell your teachers that they're wrong. You know that, Hyunok.”

Hyunok folds her arms. “Daddy, she was learning us wrong.”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “Who, Ms. Larens?” She nods. “What did she say?”

“She learnt us head, shoulders, knees and toes,” Hyunok says. “But it's head, thorax, abdomen.”

_Head, thorax, abdomen?_ Mingyu wishes he could stay serious or even mildly irritated at her for causing a fuss. But how could you ever be mad at a 5-year-old for telling her preschool teacher that she was wrong for teaching the class about terminology for human body parts and not _insect ones_? He can't help but laugh. “Smart girl.” Then he pinches her nose gently. “But you don't talk back to your teachers.”

She smiles innocently. “I'm _smart_.”

“You are.”

“Smarter than Ms. Larens?”

Mingyu grins. “Should I tell you a secret?”

There's this glitter in her eyes. “Yes.” A pause. A pout. “ _Please._ ”

Mingyu stands up and reaches down to hold her hand. Having to stretch her arm far up, she intertwines her tiny fingers with his; an action which never fails to warm his soul. “Maybe you're even smarter than Ms. Larens.”

Hyunok gasps. “Daddy!”

He pretends to shush her, putting a finger over his lips, smiling.

In moments like this, Mingyu is exceptionally thankful over the fact that their house is only two, three blocks away from Sunflower Kindergarten. Meaning that he and Minghao can easily pick up and drop off the children without having to drag them miles through an entire neighbourhood or try to shove them into a car or bus everyday. And when they start primary school? He deems that as a problem for the future.

Hyunok is now furrowing her eyebrows. “Where's Yang?”

“He's at home with other Daddy,” Mingyu says. “Remember? He wasn't feeling well this morning.” This time around it had been Minghao's turn to stay at home with a vomiting toddler. Not an extremely ideal way to spend a day.

She scrunches her small nose. “Is he sick?” She's walking slower than usual today – stopping every few metres to pick up a pebble or stick. “He'll make us sick, too. Why's he sick?”

“Hmmm.” Mingyu reckons that Hyunok's also in that age where she likes asking questions. About _everything_. According to his mother, the children's gran, this phase lasts longer than the rest. “Something very small called a _bacteria_ got into his body, and that bacteria is dirty and bad for us, and it makes you sick.”

“Bracrertia?” Hyunok makes a face. “Small? How small?”

“Too small for us to see.” Mingyu gestures at the stick she's holding. “There could be bacteria on that stick, and we wouldn't even know.”

Her eyes widen, and she looks at the stick in her palm as if it could grant wishes. “Smaller than insects?”

“Yup.”

“Even ants?”

“Even smaller than ants.”

“The bacreterita is in Yang?”

“Until he's not sick anymore, yes.”

Hyunok jumps, punching her fist in the air, laughing loudly. “I want to be sick! I want to be sick!” Although Mingyu tries to (keyword: _tries_ ) calm her down and make her stop, she's yelling it all the way down their neighbouring street, around the corner and _still_ as Mingyu's turning the keys to their front door. She skips into the house and calls out, “I want to be sick. Yang, share with me, meanie!”

“Indoor voice, Hyunok,” Mingyu tells her, and she pauses momentarily to frown.

Minghao walks into the corridor carrying a sleeping Yang on his hip. He's wearing a simple black t-shirt (when you're staying at home with a sick 3-year-old: no risks are taken), his hair is disheveled. He looks like he's been running on caffeine alone; all jittery fingers and hooded, dull eyes. In lieu of a greeting, he sighs in relief whilst looking at Mingyu and saying, “He couldn't fall asleep after lunch.”

Mingyu nods and turns to Hyunok, who has now gone relatively quiet. He says, “When Yang sleeps, the bacteria in his body sleep, too. They also need to sleep like us. If you wake them up, they'll be sad. And we don't want them to be sad, right?”

“No, Daddy,” she mumbles.

“So, let's be quiet for them, okay?”

She exaggerates a whisper, “ _'Kay!_ ”

He smiles at her, and looks up again to see that there's a slightly amused expression resting on Minghao's face. Mingyu walks over to Minghao and takes Yang out of his arms. “I'll take over. Go rest, baby.” He grins. “You look like death warmed up.”

Minghao snorts. “That's an understatement.”

Hyunok runs up to them, having successfully managed to struggle her way through the process of taking her boots off on her own. “Daddy, Daddy, other Daddy learnt me about batrectretita!”

Minghao smiles at her. “Hi, poppet, how's your day been?” That's the thing about parenting – no matter how rough your own day was, you always have a reason to be happy. Or at least a reason to have to _pretend_ to be happy. “Did you say he taught you about _bacteria_?”

“That's what I said.” Hyunok folds her arms again. She continues whispering, “Daddy also said that I'm smarter than Ms. Larens.”

Minghao laughs. “Did he now?”

They share a look. Mingyu shrugs.

Hyunok pulls on Mingyu's sleeve and says, “Daddy, I'm hungry. And other Daddy is better at making food, but he needs to sleep, too, and Yang needs to sleep, and the bac– the bactr– batr–” she huffs– “the _insects_ need to sleep.”

“Well, I'll see if I can make something to acquire your taste, Princess,” Mingyu says.

She giggles. “I want _ramyeon_!” She has now already forgotten to whisper, and starts making loud slurping noises, breaking into a run towards the kitchen; her feet pattering softly against the corridor's wooden floor.

Mingyu adjusts Yang in his arms to hold him more steadily. “If he's sick tomorrow, too, I'll call in and ask them to get a substitute teacher for me.”

Minghao bites his lips. “Are you sure? I only have one afternoon lecture tomorrow.”

“You need to _rest_ ,” Mingyu says, and Yang murmurs something in his sleep, making them both momentarily pause to glance at him. “Otherwise you'll catch whatever he has.”

“Okay.” Minghao sighs. “Okay.”

“Sleep,” Mingyu says. He touches Minghao's cheek. Traces the constellations of birthmarks on his face. “I'll take care of it.”

Minghao leans over and kisses him softly, then presses another kiss to the top of Yang's head. “His forehead doesn't feel as hot as it did earlier. He should be fine by tomorrow.” And yawning, “Make sure that Hyunok doesn't burn her tongue again.”

 

 

 

“And that's why we decided to name you Yang,” Minghao says, writing 洋 in the sand. “ _Ocean._ ” Yang stares at him. “It can mean other things, depending on how you write it.” He writes 阳 next to it.

Hyunok pauses her sandcastle-building to glance at the characters. “Ocean.”

“Ocean,” Yang repeats.

“Ocean!” Hyunok grins. Yang looks at her with wide eyes.

Minghao smiles. “Hyunok, do you want to tell your brother what an ocean is?”

Hyunok pats on her sandcastle gently. “It's lots of water in one place.” She scoops up more sand, placing it on the top, looking sceptically at the cracks forming at the bottom. “Lots and lots and lots and lots. And loads of fish live it, and mermaids, and sharks and stingrays. And it goes on _foreeeeeee_ –” stretching her arms out to the sides– “ _eeeever._ ”

“We went to the ocean once, together with Granny,” Minghao says, and Yang is staring at the characters in the sand. “Remember? We walked on the beach, and Granny helped you collect shells _._ ”

“Ganny!” Yang exclaims.

“ _Granny_ ,” Hyunok corrects him, over-exaggerating the pronunciation. “ _I_ remember that.” Yang has turned his head to stick his tongue out at her. “But, Daddy, if Yang is ocean, what does _my_ name mean?”

“ _Hyun–Ok._ ” Minghao enunciates the two syllables and writes her name in the sand, next to the Yangs. “It means _wise pearl_.”

“Boring.” She puts her hands on her hips. “Pearl? What's that?”

Yang wipes snot away with his sleeve. Sand sticks all around his mouth. Minghao says, “A pearl is a very, very beautiful gem. Pearls are also very expensive – they cost a lot of money – because you can only find them in animals called _oysters._  They also live in the ocean.” Minghao takes out tissues from his bag. “They're very _rare_.”

Hyunok asks, “Rare?”

“Rare means hard to find.” Minghao squats down and starts cleaning Yang's face.

Hyunok frowns. “ _I'm_ not hard to find.” She looks down at the pile of sand in front of her. “I'm right here.” She looks back to him. There is obvious quandary on her face.

“Rare also means _special_ ,” Minghao explains. “There's only a one in 12,000 chance to find a pearl in an oyster. Some people spend years – or even their whole life – trying to find one in the ocean, but never do.”

Yang's lips form a perfect _O_ shape _._

Hyunok is quiet. Minghao finishes wiping all the dirt away from Yang's face.

Then she stands up, dusting sand away from her knees and t-shirt and dropping the bucket from her hands. Eyes gleaming with determination as she lifts her arms in the air and pretends to flex her muscles. “Daddy, I'll dive into the ocean 12,000 times and get it for you!” She draws a cross over her heart – something she most likely picked up from Mingyu. “I promise.”

Yang jumps up next to her squealing, “Me, too! I promise!”

Minghao laughs, and they laugh, too, and he's pulling them close to his chest and hugging them tightly and they sprawl around and Yang puts his arms around Minghao's neck. “You two, you're the most special gems of them all.”

“I'm an ocean,” Yang says, loudly imitating the sound of waves. He turns to point at Hyunok. “She's a pearl.”

“But, what's Daddy?” Hyunok says.

“A fish!” Yang says.

The two of them burst into even more fits of giggles. “ _Glub, glub, glub,_ ” Hyunok says, letting out a screech of laughter as Minghao catches her and tickles her neck. “You can't catch me, Daddy, I'm a _pearl_ , I'm _rare_.” She leaps back a step. “I'm hard to find!”

“Are you using my own words against me?” He grins at them.

“I'm a pearl, I'm a pearl, I'm rare,” she starts singing to a made-up melody, stomping around the sandpit in her wellingtons as if she owns the world. And Yang starts making ocean sounds again, joining her in walking around in circles, pretending to be a flood of water following her by slowly waving his arms in different directions. “Pearl, ocean, pearl, ocean, that's us.”

“And fish!” Yang says.

“Pearl, ocean, pearl, ocean, _and fish_.” They start snickering again. “That's us.”

When they get home from the playground later that day, Mingyu greets them in the kitchen where he's been grading assignments all afternoon. He pulls up Hyunok and Yang onto his lap, and they instantly start leaning over onto the table, picking up pencils and tapping at the keyboard with their grubby fingers. “What have you three been up to, then?”

Minghao moves the computer and papers away from their reach. Hyunok pouts and says, “Daddy turned into a fish.”

Mingyu combs through Yang's hair with his fingers. “A fish?”

While Minghao makes dinner, he listens as Hyunok and Yang explain to Mingyu what a pearl is, what an ocean is, what an oyster is, what rare means, which fish Minghao would be, which shark Mingyu would be, what type of beetle Yang would be.

 

 

 

“Daddy, who do you love more, me or Yang?”

“I love you two just as much.”

“That's not a _proper_ answer.”

“Hm. Well, it's tough, but I probably love the Xu-Kim child more.”

“ _Daddy._ ”

“Try and sleep now, Hyunok.”

“I'm not sleeping until you tell me.”

“I love Yangunok the most.”

“Not funny.”

“Where did this come from, sweetheart? You know that we love you two just as much as each other.”

“I was just _wondering_.”

“Wondering? Where did you learn words like that, hm? Been going back to school again?”

“Maybe I'm smarter than you _and_ other Daddy.”

“Possibly.”

“Possibly?”

“Maybe; probably.”

“Oh. Well, possibly.”

_Silence._

“Daddy, I can't fall asleep.”

“Just close your eyes.”

“You're bad at giving advice.”

“Yup.”

“ _Yup._ Yup, yup, yup.”

“Go to _sleep,_ Hyunok. Close your eyes and – I don't know – count sheep.”

“Count sheep? Why sheep?”

“Count whatever you want to count. Butterflies.”

“I'll count moths. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

_Silence._

“One, two, three–”

“Hyunok, you're meant to count them in your head.”

“You never said that!”

“Okay, maybe I didn't. But you're meant to make up _imaginary_ moths and _then_ count them.”

“ _Hmfmff_.”

“ _Sleep_.”

“ _Fiiiiiiiine_. I'll count moths.”

“In your head?”

“In my head.”

“Thank you.”

“Goodnight, Daddy.”

“Sweet dreams, Hyunok.”

 

 

 

“Why do some people have a mummy and daddy and not me and Yang?” Hyunok asks, munching on a slice of toast with a thick layer of peanut butter on. “Choonhee in 1B says it's not normal to not have a mummy.”

Minghao and Mingyu share a look. They both knew this conversation would come sooner or later. It was only a matter of time.

“Um, it's quite complicated, poppet, but some daddies fall in love with mummies,” Minghao says, simplifying it for her sake, “and some daddies fall in love with daddies, and some mummies fall in love with mummies.” Yang digs his finger into the jam on his toast, then licks it off without taking a single bite. “I just happened to fall in love with your daddy.” There's no way two 6- and 4-year-olds could ever understand the concept of falling in love and different sexualities. They just shrug, nod, continue eating breakfast without a care in the world.

Mingyu adds, “Choonhee in 1B is wrong, there's nothing unusual – not normal – or weird about it. It's perfectly normal.”

“Oh,” Hyunok says. She thinks about it for a few seconds. “Good. Now I can tell Choonhee that she's wrong.”

Yang, with jam all around his mouth, says, “Daddy loves Daddy like a mummy loves a daddy, too, Hyunok.”

Minghao and Mingyu share a small grin.

“Hey, you two aren't sad about not having a mummy, right?” Mingyu says. Takes a big sip of coffee. He feels Minghao looking questionably at him, but doesn't meet his gaze. It's just, he's been thinking about it recently. That the children will never know what it's like to have a mother. They do have Mingyu's mother, but they'll never know the feeling of a young, soft, feminine voice reading them a goodnight story, or picking them up and embracing them in her arms–

“Nope,” Hyunok says, popping the _p_ loudly. She makes this weird face. “I don't want a mummy.”

Minghao smiles at her, brushing her long, dark hair away from her face. “Why's that, sweetheart?”

“Because I don't need anything more,” she explains. “Daddy makes good food and sings to me and other Daddy reads books and makes choccie biccie milk.” It's almost like she's talking to herself.

“Choccie biccie milk?” Mingyu asks. “Hot chocolate?”

Hyunok folds her arms. “Maybe I invented my own language.”

Yang rips off a tiny piece of his toast. “Daddy is like a mummy sometimes.”

Minghao and Mingyu share another look, laughing. “Which daddy?” they say simultaneously, breaking into even more laughter.

“Both,” Yang says, and Hyunok nods her head in agreement, and Minghao and Mingyu don't stop laughing until Hyunok pulls the knife out of the pot and starts licking peanut butter off it.

 

 

 

“You were meant to transfer the money three days ago.” Minghao sighs. “We've already talked about this.”

Mingyu looks at him, frowning. “I'm sorry, I had a lot to do at school, there was this parent-teacher–”

Minghao interrupts him, “I also had a lot to do. We're adults, Mingyu: we can't use that as an excuse anymore.”

“I'm _sorry,_ ” Mingyu says. Trying to keep his voice as calm and quiet as possible, he continues, “But if you'd let me finish you'd know that I had to sit through a parent-teacher meeting because one of my students tried to break another kid's _arm_ on Wednesday–”

“ _Maybe_ you should've already have done it the day before, or a while before, because I clearly reminded you a few weeks ago–”

“Well, why didn't _you_ just do it if you're so keen on–”

“I already told you, if you even _listened_ to me, that there was no availability for me to do so, and I thought you'd just do it since I asked you with a consideration of your time in advance–” a fierce, hushed whisper– “But clearly that's way out of the picture–”

“Oh, come _on_ , Minghao, you know that that's not even remotely true, don't try and put the blame on me when–”

There's a creak in the floorboards and they both instantly stop. And then they turn around and are both met with the sight of Yang, carrying his favourite teddy bear, Emma, shuffling forward in his pyjamas with a sleepy look in his eyes.

Mingyu glances over and sees Minghao's face visibly softening.

“Sweetheart,” Mingyu says, feeling weary. “Daddy and I are talking about adult things. Why don't you go back to bed?”

“I can't sleep,” Yang says.

After Minghao has walked him back to his and Hyunok's room and successfully managed to put him to sleep, he walks back into the kitchen and sees Mingyu with his head in his hands.

He sits down at the table again.

They're both silent for a few minutes.

“Listen, I'm sorry,” Minghao says, as he's usually the one to crack first.

Mingyu just puts a finger over his lips and shushes him. “ _I'm_ sorry. You were right, I can't keep making excuses like a teenager.”

Minghao lets out another sigh.

Mingyu is quiet. Really quiet. Then continuing, softly, “I grew up with my parents always fighting over things like money. Like– like small things. Or, I thought they were small. I _hated_ it. I hate it when we fight–” looking directly at Minghao– “I don't want to be like them.”

Minghao stares at him. “ _No_ , baby, no way will we ever be like them. No way.” He puts his hand over Mingyu's. “Your mother practically raised you on her own. There's no way we'll ever be like them. Don't _ever_ worry about that, Gyu.”

_Gyu._ A simple nickname that he's never really been able to shake off.

Mingyu breathes out. “Okay. Okay.”

Minghao brings his hand to his mouth and presses small kisses to his knuckles. And then they don't need to say anything more.

 

 

 

At the end of January, Hyunok has a day off school because of some virus going around, so Minghao does the honours of dragging her along to one of his afternoon lectures while Mingyu stays at home with Yang.

The students don't stop fawning over her for a _second_.

“My name's Hyunok, I'm six and a half years old, I like cherry-and-lemon sorbet and three-horned rhinoceros beetles, and I want to be a firefighter when I'm a grown up,” Hyunok says, in perfect Mandarin. Then in Korean, “Nice to meet you!” She does a full 90 degree bow.

After everyone's finished their _awww_ -ing, someone says, loudly, “She's so lucky to be raised bilingual and skip all this C-language bullshit later on in life.”

Minghao grins. “So you're just saying no one really wants to take this class?” He starts pulling out his laptop and notes from his bag. “Don't worry, if I wanted to teach people who actually are interested in my subject, I wouldn't have become a university language professor.” A few people laugh at this.

“No one likes Daddy,” Hyunok says, giggling.

“ _Okay,_ sweetie, it's time for me to start the lesson,” Minghao says, picking her up and putting her down in one of the lecture benches. “If you get bored, there's crayons and paper in my bag.”

“I'm already bored,” she says.

“Count how many chairs there are in this room.”

She heaves a deep sigh. “ _Fine._ ” Hyunok, ever the melodramatic.

“So,” Minghao says, clasping his hands together. “As you hopefully remember, we're starting up on a new, different field; varied dialects and languages and a little bit of geography, which is also essential to fully understand the linguistics of Chinese as a whole. Did we finish off at the Eastern Region last time?” He frowns, scrolling through the PowerPoint slides. “Ah. Okay, I remember. To repeat: Shanghai is the core city of the Eastern Region, and they have a really different way of speaking. In fact, Shanghainese is _technically_ a dialect, but it can be extremely hard to understand if you've only learn textbook Mandarin. It's like a completely different language. I'll give a few examples of what the differences between…”

The first 45 minutes go relatively well. Hyunok finishes counting the chairs, and then she starts counting the amount of people, and then the amount of people wearing hats, and then the amount of men versus women, and then the amount of people with glasses, et cetera. She even draws a few diagrams.

But past the one hour mark, she starts getting restless.

“ _Daddy_ ,” she whinges. “I'm hungry. I'm _staaaaaarving_.” Dragging out the _a_ for effect.

Minghao folds his arms, smiling apologetically at his students. “Excuse me.” They just wave him off with scoffs and _It's fine_ s. “Poppet, after this we can go home and eat, but just pull through for another 45 minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” Hyunok says. She stands up, turning towards the students, bowing again. “Exsuse me, everyone. I am terribly sorry for disturbing.” Everyone in the entire room is grinning at her. “I'll be quiet for 45 minutes. _Easy peasy lemon squeezy,_ Daddy.” She mimics zipping her mouth shut, then locking it and throwing away the key.

(Someone tells Minghao that it was the best lecture they've ever been to.)

 

 

 

Mingyu's mother makes them all chrysanthemum tea. He's pretty sure that both Hyunok and Yang would prefer hot chocolate, but they weren't raised to be impolite, so they accept it happily sitting crosslegged by the coffee table in her minuscule living room. The room bursts with life even with her old age; colourful wallpaper and furniture, pictures in frames, her paintings, all kinds of flowers in beautiful vases, seasonal hyacinths and daffodils; cacti and succulents in mugs.

His mother's body has almost given up, yet her mind is still as alive and bright as ever.

Her hands shake wildly as she pours the tea into mugs. Mingyu and Minghao both try to intercept, but it's hopeless. She would never let them – she's stubborn like that. There's really no coincidence for Hyunok's ways.

They've offered multiple times for her to come and live with them in their house so that they can take care of her properly, but they both already know that she'll never leave her tiny, coastal hometown where she's best friends with or somehow “related to” every person she's had a single conversation with. She always flicks Mingyu's forehead and tells him to trust the woman from the hospital who comes over a few times a week to help her with laundry and shopping and other everyday things.

“You know, I didn't really approve of your dads relationship at first,” she's saying now, smiling at Hyunok and Yang.

Yang sips his tea the way sophisticated 5-year-olds do. “Why not, Granny?”

Their grandmother leans back in her armchair. “Well, it just wasn't something I was very used to, I presume.” Every time they come over she is knitting something knew. She says it helps against her Parkinson's, but Mingyu knows she continues because she would rather lay down in her grave than have to stop knitting jumpers, socks, scarves for the children. “I'll let you two in on a secret. I'd fought your dad a few times over the fact that he loved your other dad, or at least so he claimed, and I just had to accept it in the end. I accepted it even though it didn't really please me. And when I did, he brought your other dad over to our house for the first time. And when I saw the way that they looked at each other, I knew that I'd been wrong the whole time. Which is not something I like to admit.” She chuckles. “You could've sensed their love from Mars.”

Hyunok and Yang listen intently, their eyes swivelling between their grandmother, to Minghao, to Mingyu, to each other.

Honestly – Mingyu is blushing a little. “ _Mum._ ”

“You just have to learn to accept people,” his mother says after a long pause. “That was hard for both my husband, and for your other dad's parents.” Minghao pointedly fixes his attention to the table at this. “But they should've seen the way your dads looked at each other that one beautiful spring day. If I had a canvas in front of me, I would paint that very moment right now.”

“Other daddy's parents?” Hyunok asks.

“Yes,” says Mingyu's mother, almost wistfully.

“Why didn't they learn to accept people?”

Minghao smiles. It's a sad smile. “Not everyone has the capability– Not everyone can do that, Hyunok. Even I'm not sure why.”

For a while, there's only the sound of small clinks and sipping and Mingyu's mother knitting.

Mingyu thinks about this one specific moment they shared with her when Yang was only a couple of months old, which means that Hyunok must've been about one and a half, two. Mingyu's mother insisted on them going on a day trip together despite her hardly being able to do big, elaborate things including big amounts of walking like that anymore.

Yang screamed and cried the entire two hour train journey there. And on the two hour train journey back home.

They weren't sure what it was – maybe he just didn't like travelling. Or the sounds. Or the people. They tried everything to distract or help him. Food, iPad games, music, films, cartoons. _Everything_. Mingyu could hear people tutting and sighing, he could see them glaring when they walked down the isle. _“They're not even trying.”_

So, on the way back home, Mingyu's mother stood up when she realised that the wave of annoyance and not-very-discreet complaints had started for the second time that day. She had to grip tightly onto her seat, but she stood up and spoke with this amazing power in her usually calm voice. “Excuse me, everyone, would you let an old lady share some of her life wisdom?” A few people turned to look up at her. They had these questioning looks on their faces. “There is really no point is hating on natural things. A baby crying. You may find it annoying – it may disturb your peace and quiet on this beautiful, long train journey with lovely views. But there is no need for hating something which is perfectly normal. You, too, may have raised a child. You, too, have been a baby once. Why roll your eyes, tut, shake your heads at something which you have also been or also experienced? The fact is that you may, you will not come _anywhere_ in life if you hate on natural things. For instance, a baby crying.”

And then she bowed politely and sat down again, folding her arms on her lap. _You will not come_ anywhere _in life._ It was like a scene straight out of a film. Mingyu couldn't believe it.

No one complained again for the rest of the trip.

 

 

 

(The truth is that Mingyu remembers that one beautiful spring day very well.

Quaking with nerves all over. Hands trembling as he slotted the key into the keyhole, pushed the front door of their house open softly and called out for his mother. His entire body was in even more hysterics by the time he heard her coming down the stairs, heard the creaking noise of the stairs: heavier at the top and then sounding milder as she walked down. The same way as always.

In fact, if he closes his eyes and concentrates, he can still hear her saying that quick, only half-genuine, _welcome_ the very way she said it to Minghao, and he can see in front of him the way she perfunctorily told them to come into the kitchen because she was making tea for all of them. Mingyu finally looked over at Minghao properly. To study his reaction, maybe, or to seek comfort in the way his face always seemed to look – calm and composed yet assured – even in situations Mingyu thought may have killed him. But when Minghao looked over at him in return he didn't look calm and composed. He looked _anxious_. Nonplussed, Mingyu furrowed his eyebrows at this, and Minghao reached over and took his hand to squeeze it slightly with a gentle smile painted – a facade – over his uncharacteristically jittery manner. Mingyu returned the smile. No words needed.

Later on, he learnt that this was the moment which made Mingyu's mother change her mind. About everything. The way she describes it, she had been standing by the doorframe to the kitchen and sneakily taken a look at Mingyu who had been supposedly “falling into”, “drowning in” Minghao's eyes. And, or so she claims, a part of her had been changed forever.

“It was like my soul had been cleansed,” she said once, as she recapped this same story to him for about the thirtieth time. “Isn't that beautiful, Mingyu? Soul-cleansing love?”)

 

 

 

The day Yang starts his first day at the same primary school as Hyunok, Mingyu makes them both thick, American-style pancakes for breakfast.

“Don't be a _scaredy-cat_ , Yang,” Hyunok huffs, cutting her pancake into smaller pieces and pouring a generous amount of syrup over them. “It's not even scary.”

Yang's lip wobbles a little, but he doesn't say anything.

“Hyunok,” Mingyu says and leans over to pinch her nose. “Everyone finds different things scary.”

She shrugs. “Only Yang finds _school_ scary.”

“No–” Yang sniffles as he rolls the pancake up and stuffs his mouth with it– “ _thatss nottj tju_.”

“Yang, don't talk with food in your mouth.” Mingyu says, sighing. And then, as he sees about a thousand excess pieces of pancake falling into his lap and onto the ground, he continues, “Lean your head over the plate.”

Minghao walks in, then. “Pancakes?” He looks at Mingyu with his eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“First day of term special?” Mingyu says, cracking a small smile.

“Hyunok has syrup in her hair,” Minghao says.

Hyunok turns to look at them, and she does in fact have syrup sticking to the tips of her hair. “ _No_ , I _don't_.”

Minghao shakes his head. “Don't get used to this, you two.” He turns back to Mingyu. “Just wash it out in the sink before they leave.” He leans down and kisses Mingyu quickly, before readjusting his bag and walking around to table to press kisses to the children's foreheads.

“You're off now?” Mingyu says, surprised.

“I told you already,” Minghao says. “I have to go early today.”

“You did?” Mingyu says.

“I think so?”

“Must've forgotten, then.” He pauses. “But it's like, seven.”

“It's just some meeting with the other professors before freshman orientation starts,” Minghao says, ruffling Yang's hair and looking at him now. “Good luck on your first day, poppet, I wish I could be there.” Yang makes a distraught face at the mention of _first day_. “You too, Hyunok.”

“It's okay, Daddy,” Hyunok says. “Me and Yang need to be more _independent_.”

“Independent?” This makes both Minghao and Mingyu laugh.

“Yes.” She folds her arms. “I looked it up in the dictionary so I know it's real.”

“Ind–epen–de–nt?” Yang repeats.

“In–de–pen–dent,” Hyunok says.

Minghao walks back around the table to lean over and whisper in Mingyu's ear, “Well, when they're more independent, we'll have more time to ourselves, baby.” He grins.

Mingyu flicks his forehead. “Don't be late.”

“What did he say?” Hyunok asks, and Yang is smearing his fingers all over the plate to get up the remains of the syrup on the plate, licking it off his fingers lazily. “ _Heelloooooo_?”

Mingyu says, “It's a secret.”

Hyunok says, “That's not fair!”

Mingyu says, “You'll understand when you're an adult. Come on, you lot, put your plates in the dishwasher and let's go and get ready. Yang, _don't lick your knife_. How many times do I have to tell you two this?”

Yang says, giggling suddenly, “Daddy, you'll understand when you're a child.”

Hyunok says, “ _Touché_.”

Mingyu stares at her. “Touché? Where do you even learn these things?”

Hyunok says, “It's a secret.”

Minghao picks the children up after school. Yang, according to his teacher, has settled in well; even made a couple of friends despite his initial shyness. The teacher even does the whole telling Minghao how _amazing_ and _progressive, you know?_ it is that Yang had two dads thing. Minghao has to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

He knows that she doesn't mean anything bad about it. But he wishes people didn't make such a big deal out of it. He's _gay,_ for God's sake _._ And yes, he and his boyfriend have two children together, no they're not married, no reason really, no, yeah it's great that it's legalised nowadays, no, they do know who the woman who gave birth to them is but not a lot about her, no real reason, no, I mean, if they ask about her they'll tell them more about her, maybe when they're 18, they're still in touch with her quite often, yes, they've met, she's a lovely woman, yes?, oh?, yes, he's Chinese and Mingyu is Korean, Mingyu can't speak fluent Mandarin but he knows enough to hold basic conversation, yes, they're both raised bilingual, he teaches them himself and tries to speak it with them as often as he can, too, no, _ha ha_ , no it's fine, you're not being too intrusive.

He needs to start carrying around business cards with answers to all these questions on.

“Yes, yes, thank you,” Minghao says, sending her another forced, polite smile.

The teacher also insists on giving him her daughter's number as she has done it to all the other parents that day (Minghao wonders if this even is a smart move). “She's a great babysitter, if you ever need one.”

“I'll think about it, thank you,” Minghao says, and he actually _does_ think about it. He's still thinking about it later that day when he and Mingyu have crawled into bed at ten like the old people they are; too exhausted to do anything apart from read and talk. Minghao places his finger as a bookmark in Marie Kondo's _The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up_ and turns over to the side. “Should we go on a date?”

“Hm?” Mingyu says, now also putting _The Economist_ down and turning over to face Minghao. “A date?”

“Yeah,” Minghao confirms, nodding. “When was the last time we had some actual alone time? And we did something we actually enjoy and not like, dinner with the Chois or that welcoming party we went to.” He shuffles closer to Mingyu under the duvet and reaches out to brush away that one cowlick that always falls into his face. “It must've been months ago. April, maybe.”

“God,” Mingyu, eyes widening. “It was, wasn't it? We went for Japanese, right? I asked the neighbours son to look after them. That high school student, Chan.” He smiles at the thought. “They loved him.”

“How about we ask him to babysit again?” Minghao says, now having put his book down on the bedside table and taken Mingyu's hand under the sheets. “Okay, maybe not _babysit_ , they're too old for that. But Chan stays with them for an evening and we go for dinner together. We give him some money to buy takeaway for himself and the children – they'll be asleep before we get home.”

“We really _have_ been busy lately.”

Minghao squeezes his hand. “Even during the holiday we barely had alone time.”

Face softening, Mingyu says, “Okay.”

Minghao says, “Okay to the date?”

“Why are you saying _date_ , idiot,” Mingyu laughs, but he presses his body against Minghao and kisses him. Minghao lets go of his hand to let his fingers press into Mingyu's hips gently. Mingyu pulls back, grinning. “We're not 20 anymore.”

Minghao smirks. “Still a date,” he says.

“Don't be annoying,” Mingyu says, leaning over to kiss him again.

“It's what I do best,” Minghao mumbles against his lips.

 

 

 

“How much do two big pizzas cost?” Minghao asks. Rummaging through his wallet, he frowns in concentration.

“Um–” Chan starts.

“You know what?” Minghao says, fishing out a couple of 10,000 notes and counting them. “Take 40,000. Does that sound about right? If there's leftover change buy some ice cream or something – they both love ice lollies.” He hands Chan the money and looks at him. “How much do you want for babysitting in total? Is 20,000 enough? 25,000?”

“It's okay,” Chan says politely. “I, um, don't really mind.”

Mingyu chips in, “Hao, he's a high school kid. He wants cash.”

Chan laughs at this. “No, really, it's fine. Your kids, they're so cute. They always say hi and wave when they see me – I was kinda surprised they remember who I am.”

Minghao and Mingyu share a look. Then a smile. “They do?” Minghao says, handing Chan 25,000 despite his protests and saying he'd do it for free. “Oh go on, buy yourself something teenagers like. A video game. Go to the cinema.”

“Video games are way too expensive,” Mingyu says. He pauses and continues, “Maybe some porn magazines–” to which Minghao slaps his arm and Chan lets out another loud laugh.

“Yeah, but, yeah, anyway, they do always greet me,” Chan says, after pocketing the money and thanking both of them happily with a light blush on his face.

At the same time as Mingyu calls out their names and tell the children to come to the corridor, Minghao grins at Chan and says, “They really like you too, you know.” Chan rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Chan!” Hyunok shouts. She and Yang simultaneously bound forward and wrap their arms around him; Hyunok around his waist (this makes Minghao stop for a second and take in how much she has grown, just over the summer) and Yang around his legs, burying his face into Chan's knees. “Chan! What are you doing here!”

“I'm gonna hang out here for a while, like last time,” Chan says. Smiling, he leans down to tickle Hyunok on the neck, making her squeal loudly and swat him away without any real force. “We'll get pizza, watch a film together, play some games. Whatever you want to do.”

Yang's eyes bulge. “Anything we want to do?”

“Not _anything_ ,” Mingyu says hurriedly.

Yang turns to Mingyu, and then back to Chan, and then back to Mingyu. “Where are you going, Daddy?”

“We're just going out for dinner,” Mingyu says, ruffling Yang's hair. “We'll be home after you two are asleep. Hopefully.” To Chan: “We'll be back midnight, maybe one at the absolute latest. I get that you won't have a problem staying up until then.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Chan says, grinning. “Thanks so much again.”

“I trust you to not steal from the alcohol cabinet,” Minghao says, slipping his shoes on. Chan shakes his head furiously and promises, making Mingyu snort as he opens the front door. “Hyunok, Yang, we'll see you tomorrow.” But they're already in a completely different world – Yang jumping around Chan and tugging at his shirt and telling him about his first week at primary school; Hyunok asking if they can play _Just Dance_ together again; Chan throwing out another quick goodbye to Minghao and Mingyu before turning to the children and saying that he'll race them to the kitchen, Yang and Hyunok sprinting after him down the corridor, Hyunok saying that he got a head start, and _that's unfair! You're much taller and older than us!_

“He's a good 'un, that Chan,” Mingyu says, closing the door behind them.

“'Good 'un?'” Minghao repeats. “Are you 31 or 50?”

Mingyu laughs. “I'm just saying, I was _not_ that nice in high school. What's he, a junior?”

Minghao smiles and reaches out to take his hand. Their fingers have always intertwined as easily as breathing. They chat about Chan and how they used to be in high school all the way to the restaurant – some Italian restaurant a couple of blocks away that Mingyu chose. “Wow,” Minghao says, squinting at the menu outside the building. “This looks really nice.” There's some underlying meaning in the word _nice_. It looks like one of those places where a pasta dish alone costs 22,000.

“We deserve it,” Mingyu says, smiling.

“Fuck, yes,” Minghao says. “We do.”

“Excuse me? That'll be 150 won in the swear jar.”

“We don't even have a swear jar,” Minghao says, hitting his shoulder. “Let's just go inside.”

They get shown to their table by an overly excited blonde waitress; Mingyu had booked a table and everything. Oak table and giant candles with waterfalls of wax spilling onto the red-and-white table cloth. They give each other an impressed look as they sit down and are handed menus with a chirpy, “Take your time!” from the waitress.

Minghao orders mushroom risotto. Mingyu orders some dish with rigatoni pasta and zucchini. Along with the food, they decide to get a bottle of red wine to share between them.

The waitress comes back momentarily to dump a bread basket on their table with a grin and another perky comment. The two of them share a quick look, and Minghao knows that he's thinking about the exact thing as he is. “If they were here–”

Mingyu, glancing at the _grissini_ in the basket, “'Hyunok, don't eat all the breadsticks. There's proper food coming later.'”

Minghao laughs. “'Yang, put your feet down from the chair. This is a _nice restaurant_.'”

“'Best behaviour, you two.'”

“'Hyunok, can you _stop_ blowing into your straw? What are you– Don't hit each other – _behave_ I said – take turns in using the crayons instead.''”

They smile at each other. Mingyu has olive oil and vinegar on the corner of his mouth; Minghao has never been more in love with anyone before.

Almost as if reading Minghao's mind, he wipes his mouth with his tissue and leans forward. “We've done a good job with them.”

“We _have_ ,” Minghao says. “We really have.”

“I was just thinking about something the other day,” Mingyu says. “When Yang was maybe one, two years old. And he kept pointing at the kitchen cupboard and saying, _'Yungmi! Yungmi!'_ And he got really sulky when I didn't understand or do anything.” He takes another bite of a bread slice. “Were you there then?” Minghao shakes his head – he doesn't remember this. “And I was grumbling to myself like, _'What? What does that even mean?'_ And then later, maybe a week or so after it happened, I realised it meant he wanted raisins from the cupboard–” grinning fondly– “because his friend _Hyungmin_ likes raisins. Way too smart, right?”

Minghao can't help but laugh. “He outsmarted us both. At age one.”

Just then, as they're giggling together like primary school students, the food and wine arrives. Along with this fancy bottle of sparkling water. And _God,_ does it look delicious. They pour the wine into their glasses. “Cheers to us,” Mingyu says.

“Cheers to Hyunok and Yang.” Minghao can't stop smiling, like some type of love-crazed idiot. Maybe because he is one. “And Chan.” They bring their glasses together with a satisfying, onomatopoeic _clink_ sound.

They drink. And eat.

And talk, talk, talk, and drink and eat some more.

Two hours or so later – Minghao knows a long time has passed from the fact that there has been three different groups of people on table next to them – Mingyu, tinted cheeks and an idiotic love-crazed smile to match his, puts his hand on Minghao's thigh. And then: “I want to do this with you like, forever.”

“What's this?” Minghao says, lightly kicking Mingyu's foot under the table. “Some type of proposal?”

Mingyu freezes and looks at him. “Is it?”

Minghao laughs.

“Yes, I guess it is.”

“We've never even talked about getting married before.”

“I don't know.” He pouts. “I just said I want to be with you forever. Marriage or non-marriage.”

“You're stupid,” Minghao says, laughing. “What are you proposing with?”

“I don't _know_ ,” Mingyu whinges. He really does sound and act exactly like Hyunok and Yang. _Wow!_  Well – yeah, obviously. But having it figuratively acted out in front of him always makes him actually notice the resemblances. “One of those ring lollipops.” So, maybe they're a little tipsy by now.

“Ring lollipop? A _Ring Pop_?”

“Yes.”

“You're gonna propose to me with a Ring Pop.”

“Yes.”

Minghao likes diving his memories into different categories. And he knows there are several moments in his life so far that he reckons he'll remember for the rest of his life.

The first time he'd seen Mingyu in History – both of them at the ripe, fresh age of 20, most likely hungover, regretting thinking a morning lecture would be a good idea yet ready to throw themselves into the world; the one evening they'd sat on the balcony together at some party they didn't really want to be at and Mingyu had kissed him and his lips tasted a hint of Grape Tonic, which to this day is his favourite fizzy drink; the soft, pitter-patter of Hyunok's feet the first time she could walk without having to hold onto anything or anyone; the moment Yang's face had turned completely purple when they were on the way home from the hospital and Hyunok had started bawling and he will never forget the way Mingyu had yelled at the taxi driver to turn around and drive back, _hurry, hurry, run the red lights!, quick!, gogogogogogoshitshitshit_.

The latest addition to this category? After paying for an expensive Italian meal and expensive French wine and happily tipping the blonde waitress: walking to the nearest 7eleven and Mingyu buying a Ring Pop to propose to him with. He thinks he'll remember this evening even when he starts slowly going senile and Hyunok has to call them three times a day to remind them to eat.

“So what changes after a couple gets married?” Minghao asks. The lollipop is way too sweet for his liking, but something about the sugary, artificial strawberry flavour makes him feel like he could fly out of sheer exuberance. “When are we going to hit our mid-life crisis?” He loves that. Our. Not just _his_ mid-life crisis. “I need to know for when you start asking me to join a salsa dance class with you.”

Mingyu scoffs. “Salsa? I don't need classes, baby.” He starts swaying his hips, raising his eyebrows with a smirk, and Minghao immediately starts groaning and telling him to stop, and can he _please_ just act his age for once, and _we're in public, Gyu._

Despite his huffing and complaining, he slides his arms around Mingyu's neck, making sure to stretch his fingers and hold the lollipop away from his hair. He realises that he still has to stand a little straighter for them to be at the same height. After Mingyu has pulled him closer by placing his hands on Minghao's waist and blindly kissing for a couple of centuries, Minghao laughs and disapprovingly runs his hand over Mingyu's stubble and suggests they start going home before Chan gets bored of watching reruns of old dramas on TV.

 

 

 

Mingyu looks at him regarding the Ring Pop on his finger, and doesn't feel the need to tell him anything stupid like, _“I love you.”_ I love you? He already _knows_ that. After almost 12 years down the road with Minghao he has realised that there is more to being in love than just constantly reminding each other that they are, in fact, in love. What he has realised is this,  _“Make sure that Hyunok doesn't burn her tongue again,”_ and _“Just wash it out in the sink before they leave,”_ and _“I know you just proposed and all but you should really shave – kissing you when you have an awkward stubble like that is weird,”_ are a lot more meaningful than those three words will ever be.

Minghao grins, lips even redder from the lollipop, shining in the distinct, yellow beam of a street light hanging above them. He is now saying, “This is what eating actual diabetes would be like,” and there's just no way saying _I love you_ could _ever_  amount to the love living inside of him; flowering more by every day passing.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> another cheesy ending because i HATE myself
> 
> please fact check me on basically this entire thing because i don't speak chinese or korean, never been a uni professor, never raised two children, etc... (although i think everyone with siblings can agree it's highly unrealistic that hyunok and yang aren't constantly fighting)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/greeneryrains/)! thanks for reading <3


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